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“Backseat” – Nayana Nair

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we get onto the car
that we wish was stolen
i look at her (not my lover, yet),
at him (my friend – we share the same passion
of finding new things to be disappointed about),
i look at the the small bags we have packed
and realize that this is far too less to start a life
i count them as i get in
i realize one of us probably
has nothing worth carrying around in life.

she keeps telling me that unlike us
she has to take care of things
so she is bound to be late
she says this while she texts the food preferences
of her beloved pet
to someone who owes her one
(i feel something similar to jealousy seeing this).

and he keeps changing the radio station
as if he knows what he is looking for,
as if he has grown up on radio songs and commercials,
but he hasn’t.
he says that is what makes it more romantic,
the unknown that was always in front of you
to finally acknowledge something
that shouldn’t have been invisible from the start.

i just look at them, making mental notes,
calculating the chances that we might come to our senses
(that would be pretty sad, if that happens).
i keep looking back
as if i was being abducted,
dragged out of heaven against my wishes.
but it is no heaven
(not anymore).

so i sleep in the backseat
hiding my tears under the blanket of darkness-
since i do not want to recall every thing
that made this place and my body unholy, unbearable;
since i don’t want ask these two
about what they are running away from.
i wonder if i will ever know a home
that won’t drive me away.

“Part of me” – Nayana Nair

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lonely-sad-girl-alone-photography-images

A part of me is always detached from my life,

from this world.

It is aware of everything,

it knows, but is unaffected.

As if this pain, is not mine

but someone else’s.

Or worse, it acts as if there is no pain.

It knows that I am crying

but doesn’t understand why.

It looks at these concepts.

Concepts of happiness, sadness, jealousy,

struggle and whatnot.

But these are just ideas for it.

Ideas that do not matter.

It believes that the fire I play with

can burn me, but not ‘it’.

It’s reality is different than mine.

This part of me just observes this life

as it passes by

and refuses to participate.

The only thing it does understand is that

We are here.

And how wonderful it is

to witness the beauty, this life is.

It only understands the beauty of the ruin,

our life is headed to.

abandoned

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